


Bucking Fate

by ESP_Witch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Harry, Bisexual Harry Potter, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Powerful Harry, Powerful Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 02:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13893993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ESP_Witch/pseuds/ESP_Witch
Summary: Everyone is always talking about how much Ron influenced Harry as his first friend. No one ever asks the obvious question: What if Ron wasn't Harry's first friend? What if Hermione had been his first friend instead? Harry befriends Hermione first in Diagon Alley that first year and suddenly fate looks a little different. Future Bisexual Harry. Pairing Undecided. Powerful Harry AU.





	1. Hermione Granger and the Larch Wand

**Bucking Fate**

**Chapter One: Hermione Granger and the Larch Wand**

Harry was just shaking hands in the Leaky Cauldron, having just re-entered the wizarding world, when a girl with lots of bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth pushed her way up to the front.  

Harry was surprised.  “You’re the first one I’ve seen my age,” he admitted, curious.

“Well, I was actually wondering what’s going on,” she said in a hushed voice, looking around excitedly.  “I mean, I can tell you’re terribly important, of course, but nobody in my family is magic at all. I just got my Hogwarts letter.”

Harry was relieved.  “So did I,” he admitted.  “I come from Muggles, too.”

“Then how -?” the girl began, confused.

“I was born to wizarding parents, but they died in the last war.  The leader of the Dark Side, Voldemort -” Hagrid flinched. “He killed them.  Then he tried to kill me, but the spell didn’t work. I lived, he disappeared, and the war has been over since we were about one year old.

“I was sent to live with Muggle relatives.  But they were awful and they never told me much about myself.  To be honest -” Harry looked around and leaned closer. “I have no idea what to do around all these people.  I don’t know anything and I’m not anyone important where I come from. My relatives… don’t exactly like magic.”

“That makes sense,” said the girl immediately, reasonable.  “It’s a perfectly natural way to react. Wow, how fascinating!  Do you know how you survived?” she asked, not with the same hero-worship as the others but with simple curiosity.

“No.  No one does.  I hardly remember anything.  Just a flash of green light and my forehead hurting.  That’s where the Curse hit but didn’t kill me.” Harry pointed at the lightning bolt on his forehead.  “So I’m in the same boat as you. I don’t know anything. It’s nice meeting someone like me who isn’t all…”  He trailed off awkwardly.

“Gaga?” the girl assumed, exasperated and amused.

“Exactly,” said Harry, relieved.  He held out his hand. “Harry Potter,” he said.

She smiled and shook the hand.  “Hermione Granger,” she returned, blushing and pleased.  “My parents are London dentists. They’re over there.” A quiet Muggle couple was standing nervously off to the side.  “And… your awful relatives are?”

“My aunt’s a homemaker and my uncle’s a businessman,” said Harry.  “My cousin, he’s my age. Wealthy suburban Surrey people, prep schools, climbing through dinner parties, pretending to be posh, that sort of thing.”

“It really is a crime, not telling you anything and hating magic,” said Hermione matter of factly.  “We’ll have to catch you up. That’s one of the most awful things I can think of, being a big reader and a newfound witch myself.”

Harry felt good somehow at the inclusion of _we._  “So you’re good at marks,” he guessed.

“Oh, yes, I’m _determined_ to do well,” she said quickly and fervently.  “Hogwarts is the very best school for witchcraft and wizardry there is, I’ve heard.”

“That’s what I heard, too.”  Harry leaned closer and whispered.  “I’m terrified of not fitting in and of doing really badly.  Think we can help each other?”

“Of course!” said Hermione, pleased, and she spoke so fast that perhaps she was a little relieved herself.  She hid it well, though - any self consciousness she seemed to feel.

“Come on, we want to talk to Harry Potter!” said one angry Leaky Cauldron patron, trying to push a dismayed and indignant Hermione aside.

Harry felt a shot of cold anger and pulled Hermione back to his side by the shoulder.  “She’s with me,” he said coolly.

“Oh… of course, of course!”  Everyone immediately became deferential, not only to Harry but to a relieved-looking Hermione.  Hagrid, who was smiling, quietly pulled Hermione to the safety of his massive side by a shoulder.  

“That’s Hagrid,” said Harry, “Hogwarts groundskeeper.  He’s helping me shop. We can all go together - your parents, too.”

He turned back to the waiting, excited, impatient crowds.

A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously.  One of his eyes was twitching.

“Professor Quirrell!” said Hagrid.  “Harry, Hermione, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts.”

“Nice to meet you, sir!” said Hermione eagerly.

“What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?” Harry asked curiously.

“Can’t tell you how pleased I am to meet you as well,” Quirrell stammered out in a thick, nervous stutter.  “I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.” He said it as though he’d rather not think about it. 

“That sounds fascinating!” said Hermione.

“It actually does,” Harry admitted, impressed.

“Though you may not need it, eh, Potter?”  Quirrell laughed nervously. “You’ll be getting all your equipment, I suppose?  I’ve got to pick up a new book on vampires, myself.” Still stammering, he looked terrified at the very thought.

“I’m sure we’ll be very eager to learn whatever you have to teach us,” said Hermione conscientiously.

“Yes,” said Harry quickly, relieved; she’d practically read his mind.  “I’ve got loads to learn, coming back into this world, and it all sounds fascinating.” 

“It does!”  Hermione smiled at him.

“Cheers to that!” Quirrell stammered out, and he stepped back into the crowds as impatient people engulfed Harry’s little group again.

It took another good ten minutes to get away from them all.  “This is awful, actually,” Hermione whispered in Harry’s ear, as the crowds of demanding fans cloistered and jostled around them for handshakes.  “I can see what you mean.” Smiling politely at everyone, Harry made a noise of agreement in the back of his throat.

At this, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the rabble.

“Must get on!  Lots to buy! Come on, you two.”

Positively bodyguard-like in nature, he steered Harry and Hermione through the crowds.  Hermione waved to her parents, who quickly ran up anxiously and followed along behind. They all entered through the pub’s back door and out into a small, walled courtyard where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.

“This is Harry Potter,” Hermione told her parents.  “He’s a first year like me, and my first friend!” Harry smiled at this, feeling warm and pleased.  He was making friends here already. “Can we all go shopping together?” Hermione looked up at her parents anxiously.

The Grangers relaxed and smiled.  “Of course,” said Mrs Granger more warmly, lifting out her hand to Harry’s.  She was an elegant, warm, slim dark-haired woman. “Monica Granger.”

“Wendell,” said a silvery-haired, balding man, shaking Harry’s hand in a friendly way next.

“Harry Potter,” said Harry, smiling.  “Hermione’s parents are dentists,” he added to Hagrid.

“Nothing wrong with that!” said Hagrid boisterously.  “Some of the best ones I ever knew were the only ones with magic in them in a long line of Muggles!”

Hermione blushed and smiled, pleased.

“Told you, didn’t I?” Hagrid added to Harry, grinning.  “Told you you was famous.”

Hermione shared with her parents what she had learned about Harry.  The Grangers looked both impressed and utterly mystified.

“Even Professor Quirrell was shaking when he met you!” said Hermione in fervent disbelief.  “I mean, I suppose whatever happened to you that night helped end a war, but really…”

“I don’t get it, either,” Harry admitted.

“Well, mind you, Professor Quirrell is usually shaking about pretty much everything,” Hagrid admitted.  

“Is he always that nervous?” Harry asked skeptically.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s very competent,” Hermione said, but she looked worried.

“Oh, yeah.  Poor bloke. Brilliant mind,” said Hagrid matter of factly.  “He was fine while he was studying out of books, but then he took a year off to get some first-hand experience.  They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was nasty bit of trouble with a hag. Never been the same since.  Scared of the students, scared of his own subject…

“Now, where’s me umbrella?”

Vampires?  Hags? Harry’s head was swimming.  

Hermione, meanwhile, was focused with impressive tenacity on memorizing what Hagrid was doing to get in.  “What’s that you’re doing?” she asked intently.

“Oh, well, the trash can’s always in a specific place,” said Hagrid, taking out his umbrella and counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.  “Always three up and two across from the direct center brick. Take out your wand and tap that brick three times with its point, and…”

He tapped the brick three times with the point of his umbrella.

“Just so you know, he’s not supposed to be using a wand,” Harry muttered in amusement to Hermione.  “He was expelled himself. Best to keep it under wraps.”

“Oh,” Hermione sighed, looking disapproving but mild enough.  “All right, I suppose, but only because it sounds perfectly awful to be denied magic.  Don’t think I’m up for breaking all the rules. That’s a good way to get kicked out.”

Harry had to admit this was a good point.  He shuddered a little at the idea of being sent back to the Dursleys.  “Yeah, I don’t want to go back where I came from,” he admitted. “Let’s hope it never gets to that.”

The brick Hagrid had touched quivered - it wriggled - in the middle a small hole appeared - it grew wider and wider -

The next second, they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street full of lamp posts and colorful little shop buildings that twisted and turned out of sight.

“Welcome,” said Hagrid, “to Diagon Alley.”

He grinned at Harry, Hermione, and the Grangers’ silent amazement.

They stepped through the archway.  Harry looked quickly back over his shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into solid wall.

He was in.

“This is fascinating!  It’s like stepping back in time, except everyone’s clothes are modern!” said Hermione excitedly.  “Why are robes our uniform?”

“Well, they’re our traditional dress.  We’re descended from Druids, you know. Hogwarts is a medieval stone castle on ancient Celtic ground in the Scottish Highlands.  But yeah, most fashion is Muggle,” Hagrid admitted. “One of the reasons why the idea of disliking Muggles is so ridiculous.”

“But no technology?” Hermione guessed intently.

“Not much, unless it’s specially configured,” Hagrid explained.  “Radios or record players, for example, exist here too. But electricity and magic don’t mix.  So for the most part we’re very… Victorian.”

“Does most everything in the Muggle world have a wizarding equivalent?” Wendell Granger asked curiously.

“Oh, yeah - everything from government, schools, shops, music, sports, and newspapers to career choices.  There are a few exceptions - banking is goblin territory, for example, and technology jobs don’t exist. But for the most part all Muggle career paths have a wizarding equivalent,” said Hagrid.  “We’re not barbarians. And we have lots of magical study jobs in specific subjects besides. Scientific research there becomes magical research here.”

And they began their walk up the street to the bank.  Harry and Hermione were pointing things out excitedly to each other their entire walk down Diagon Alley, each wishing they had about eight more eyes.  They tried to point out everything to each other - the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping.

Then they entered Gringotts Bank, where the Grangers exchanged Muggle money for wizarding coins at the counter and then they all took a wild cart ride down into the bowels of Gringotts to get money from Harry’s fortune - and a small package from vault 713 for Hagrid.

As Hermione and Harry were walking back into Gringotts’s marble hall, they had fallen behind and were whispering in heated discussion.

“What do you think is in the package?” Harry whispered to Hermione.

“I don’t know.  I’m curious,” Hermione admitted, “but if it’s private Dumbledore business…”  She looked uncertain.

“I know, I knew better than to ask, too.  I expected to see fabulous jewels. Something big and impressive,” Harry admitted.

“Oh, I suspect you never know with magic,” said Hermione sharply, chancing a glance over at Hagrid.  “This all just looks like a shop front from the London street. Look how much magic it contains.”

“You think it’s a magical object?” Harry realized.

“What else would it be, to be that small and that important?” said Hermione seriously.

Just then, the Grangers paused and looked around to Harry frowning.  “... Don’t you want to know how much is in your accounts, and what they’re made of?” Wendell asked, puzzled.

“I… don’t know anything about that,” Harry admitted.

“No parents,” Monica realized, her lips thinned disapprovingly.  “All right, Harry. We’ll help you through whatever you need done.  And the first thing we’re doing is checking your bank accounts, and their rights.  You’re obviously wealthy - but where does it come from, how much do you have access to, and how much do you have?”

Hagrid was looking between them, curiously.  Harry nodded. “It sounds like a good thing to know,” he admitted.

“Okay,” said Hagrid.  “Let’s go back up to the desk.”

And so they went back up to the previous desk goblin.  “Say,” said Monica, “that you would like a report of your finances.  Say your name.”

“I’m Harry Potter and I would like a report of my finances,” said Harry, swallowing nervously and trying to speak up to the intimidating desk goblin.

“Your key?”

Harry handed the golden key over.  “We are solving a great mystery today,” Hermione told Harry meaningfully, and he smiled in amusement over at her.

“True, we are,” he admitted.

“All right.  Let me take you back into the office,” said the goblin, handing Harry’s key back down the long counter.

“Keep it safe,” Monica warned.

Harry nodded and put the key deep in his pocket beside his bag of wizarding coins.  He didn’t want anyone to have access to his accounts except him, he realized.

They went into a little office adjoining the marble hall, and all sat down across a desk from the official looking goblin.  “I am Granshank, and I will be showing you your accounts today,” said the goblin, crossing his hands matter of factly before himself.  “So. To start out with, here are the accounts you own.”

He passed a long roll of parchment across the desk to Harry, who looked bewildered down at the numbers.

“They’re big,” he said dryly.  “That’s all I can tell.”

“In Muggle terms, Mr Potter, you are a billionaire,” said Granshank bluntly, and Harry’s jaw dropped.  The Grangers looked stunned. “Would you like to learn how?” said Granshank with a dry little smile.

“Please,” said Harry in disbelief.  “What exactly did my parents _do?”_

“It’s not what your parents did, Mr Potter.  It’s what an ancestor of your father’s did,” said Granshank.  “You had an ancestor in the twelfth century who invented several medicinal potions - among other things, a cure for the common cold, and a limb regrowing potion.  You get a cut of money every time someone in an Apothecary brews and sells a copy.

“He was always pottering around in his garden.  Hence, Potter.”

“So my money… is constantly replenishing itself,” Harry realized.

“And see?  You have two accounts.”  Wendell Granger pointed at the two separate ink and quill lists and frowned.  Harry realized he was right.

“Why do I have two accounts?” he asked, frowning.  “And why was I only shown one?”

“You cannot access the main Potter family account, full of jewels and ancient treasures and the main replenishing money, until you come of age at seventeen,” said Granshank calmly.  “But the main account constantly replenishes your trust fund - something your parents set up for you when you were a baby, which you just accessed - every time it starts to run low.

“Now, you should know, it is common practice ask what magic protects your vaults.”

“What magic protects my vaults?” Harry asked, frowning.

“For the Potters, we chose toxic fumes,” said Granshank.  “Only harmless to those who belong. You get a single whiff of the inside of the vault, and if unwelcome, you die instantly.

“But I have something else to show you.”

And he pushed another piece of parchment across the desk.

“Your parents made your godfather Sirius Black, heir to the Black fortune,” said Granshank.  “Black left everything to you in the event of his demise.”

“Did he die?” Harry asked tentatively.

“Worse.  He turned out to be a spy for the other side.  Sirius Black is currently in prison,” said Granshank bluntly.  “He lost everything when you survived. He’d betrayed your parents, you see.”

Harry sat there, fists clenched, irrational fury choking him for an entire five seconds.

“... I see,” he managed at last coldly.  “So?”

“Since you are the heir to the Black fortune, and the Black family head is imprisoned for life…” said Granshank slowly, “you are offered all of the significant Black fortune as well.”

“I don’t want his money,” Harry spat.

“Think about this, Harry,” Wendell warned seriously.  “On a vindictive level: what better way to get even with a wealthy asshole than to take all his money, eh?  People with a grudge dream about opportunities like this.”

Harry paused, thinking about.  “... All right,” he admitted. “On those grounds, I accept the Black fortune.”  

Granshank slid across a piece of parchment for Harry to sign, a legal document which glowed blue immediately upon getting his signature.

Magically appearing on the long scroll below the Potter accounts came the massive Black fortune.  Harry’s eyes widened.

“Now it’s neat and consolidated.  All three accounts are yours,” said Granshank, pleased, taking the document back.  “You can’t access the ancient Black fortune, either, but it will also immediately start replenishing your trust fund.

“Congratulations, Mr Potter.  You are now one of the wealthiest people in wizarding Britain.”

Harry’s head was swimming.  He turned to the Grangers. “Thank you,” he said fervently.  “And if your family ever needs anything… just let me know.”

“Oh, it was nothing, dear,” said Monica, but the Grangers were smiling, as was Hermione - she, in fact, was positively beaming.

“So.”  Harry turned back determined.  “I believe I’m entitled to the same information with the Blacks?”

Granshank smirked.  “Clever boy. You’re getting it,” he said sharply.  “So, the Blacks mostly made their fortune through political gain - important and influential positions in society.  They were typically a Dark family, but of course, under the right heir, that can change.

“Their vault is guarded first by a dragon,” Harry’s eyes widened, “and second by an Ever-Growing Charm.  The minute someone who doesn’t belong touches a piece of gold inside the vault, the vault magically magnifies with fake money, drowning and suffocating the intended thief.

“Also.”  Granshank slid two deeds across the table.  “We can keep these for you, but you should know - the Potters have a manor, as do the Blacks.  So you now own two manors, currently empty.”

“Why weren’t my parents living in the manor when they died?” Harry asked, frowning.

The next words made his blood run cold.

“They were in hiding, Mr Potter.  Remember who was after them. How quickly do you think he’d have looked for them in their manor?”

“... Right,” said Harry, sobering and growing more serious.

“Anyway, the government has stated you must live with your relatives until you reach majority at seventeen.  So those are just for future use,” said Granshank, taking the deeds back. “Unless you… want to invite your Muggle relatives into a wizarding manor?”

Granshank smiled sharply.

“They’d love that.  And no,” said Harry flatly.

“I thought not,” said Granshank.  “Now, would you like to lock these in place, or leave to them to anyone in case something happens to you?  If you don’t lock the money in place, it would go to the Malfoys currently, a heavily Dark family with their own wealth and their hand in almost every major business in wizarding Britain.”

“... Lock them in place for now,” Harry decided sharply, the wheels beginning to turn in his mind.  “I’ll let you know if something changes.”

“Alright.”  Granshank had Harry sign a second piece of parchment, which again glowed blue at the end.  “But remember, Mr Potter:

“If you die, nobody will ever get this money again.  Not ever. It will go back to the bank, who will continue to accrue its funds.  This will never change in the case of your death, unless you sign something beforehand without the use of a mind altering spell or potion.  Magically unbreakable contract.”

Granshank smirked.

“I’ve made things better for you, too,” Harry realized.  This was why Granshank was offering him so much help. “... Good,” he decided.  “From what I’ve heard about goblins, we both should get something out of everything.”

Granshank smiled at him.  “I like you, Mr Potter,” he decided.  “That is indeed _exactly_ how things are done.”

And they shook hands across the desk.

“If you ever need more money,” said Granshank, newly conscientious, “just owl us with some form of identification.  Even a lock of hair will do. We have ways of telling. There are owls at Hogwarts. Deal?”

“Deal,” said Harry, determined.

They left the office.

Harry did an exchange for some Muggle money back at the counter - just in case.  Then, as Harry walked out of Gringotts into the sunlight of Diagon Alley, Wendell told him in amazement, “Congratulations, Harry.

“Since you can do money exchanges between worlds, you are now one of the richest people in either country you choose to step foot in.”

-

“Best to get your uniform next,” said Hagrid, beginning to nod toward a robe shop -

But Monica stopped him.  “Harry,” she said unexpectedly, “how wealthy do you look right now?”

Harry looked down at his baggy old secondhand clothes.

“Not at all,” he admitted.

“Do you like your own appearance?”

“Not really.”

“Well - let’s fix that,” said Monica.  “You’re one of the wealthiest people in Britain; you can’t go around dressed in rags.  Where can we find some clothes and cosmetic help?”

She turned, determined, to Hagrid.

“Well… let’s go to Gladrags,” said Hagrid, pleasantly bewildered.  

They entered a department store which was divided into two sections: clothes and robes in the front, and a hair and cosmetics salon in the back.  Signs with golden lettering constantly rewriting itself named each section.

The Grangers helped Harry pick out new clothes, focusing on slim but not body hugging designer styles - long shirts, sweaters, and trousers mostly, no shorts so he could hide his bony knees, a couple of jackets that added some bulk to his upper half.  Harry preferred either dark or solid deep jewel-toned colors in clothing. In jackets, he preferred colors like warm brown. Then they took him back to the salon, where he got a haircut - a messy, side-swept jet-black hairstyle with more volume on top than on the sides.

“You have to work with the mess instead of against it,” Monica advised.  “And that haircut makes your thin face look fuller.”

Lastly, they got him some contacts - the wizarding kind, which healed all vision and treated all eye problems exactly the same.  ( _Insta-Vision!  All eye problems healed with the same contacts!_ the box advertised.)  He slid some over his eyes, and all of a sudden he blinked in surprise.  He could see clearly, no glasses, almond shaped bright green eyes fully visible.

“Now, on me since you’ve spent so much,” said the clerk at the counter, ringing him up.  “These are some nutritional potions.” She handed some blue vials of thick potion over the counter.  “No offense, dear, but you look woefully underfed. Drink one of these at the same time every afternoon for a week.  You’ll gain some of the vitamins and growth you’ve lost, so you’ll look small and slim but not short and skinny.”

Harry stared at himself in the salon mirror afterward, transformed.  He was noticing things about himself he’d never noticed before - a heart shaped face, a nice jawline, a small pert nose.  “Looking good, dear. Drink those potions and it’ll be even better - very nice,” said the mirror suddenly and approvingly, and Harry jumped.

“Er - thanks,” he said.  He turned to Hermione. “Do you want anything?  You’ve all been so nice to me, I can pay for it,” he said to the Grangers.  “Before we got and get uniforms, I mean.”

Hermione dressed nicely, in sweaters and nice jeans.  She was not dressed badly at all. But she looked up uncertainly at her parents.  “... I’d like my hair and teeth done,” she admitted.

The Grangers’ lips thinned disapprovingly.  “We did want you to go back to braces,” said Monica, “but if Harry is willing to pay…”

“I am,” said Harry quickly, wanting to make Hermione happy with how she looked.

So Hermione was put in the salon chair in front of the talking mirror next.  Harry paid. 

First the salon manager took out a wand, and shrunk Hermione’s front teeth to a normal size, straightening her mouth in what looked like a surprisingly painless way.  “Now, there are two ways we can do your hair,” said the salon manager, “since you don’t know magic yet. There is either a very intensive potion to put on your hair every day to straighten it…

“Or… there is a spray-on potion from a bottle.  It spritzes your hair every day, and the bushy mess turns into wild curls.  Very attractive.”

“I’ll take the quicker, more sensible one,” said Hermione immediately, which made sense as she did not even seem to wear skirts and seemed to prefer sweaters.  So they gave her the first spritz and two huge bottles… and she suddenly had a wild mess of curly brown hair, with brown eyes and a lovely smile. It was very pretty on her.

“You look nice,” Harry admitted, and Hermione blushed and smiled, rather pleased.

“So do you,” she said.

Next they got themselves fitted for black Hogwarts uniform robes, Harry’s slightly larger to make up for his coming growth over the next week of drinking potions.  They stood on stools in front of a long mirror, chattering and talking excitedly.

And then they went to get Harry’s other surprise.  Harry was talked by the Grangers mostly into buying “nice but not gaudy” things - a copper cauldron, brass instruments, crystal vials, black Hungarian horntail dragon hide protective gloves, some astronomy charts and models, and a very nice eagle feather quill, several colors of ink, and a scroll organizer for his notes.

But they had the most fun in Flourish and Blotts, the bookshop.

Hermione took charge for the first part of the bookshop.  She had Harry buy a copy of everything she got - not only the textbooks, but several informational nonfiction books for background reading on the wizarding world they were entering into.  

But then she turned to him.  “... You need hobbies,” she said softly.  “Since you can’t have a broom yet… what better place to start than here?”

So Harry went to the more… recreational sections of the shop.  He bought some mysteries, some magical theory nonfiction, some satirical punk wizarding rock, a wizarding record player, and a radio hooked up to the WWN so he could listen to sports matches, skits, and music.

Hermione, meanwhile, bought some wizarding jazz, some soft dreamy classical romances, and a similar radio as she thought it was probably a good idea to keep abreast of what was going on in the wizarding world from her Muggle home.

Outside the shop, they checked everyone’s lists again.

“Just your wands left,” said Hagrid, who had been swept along in the mad wake.  “Oh yeah, Harry, and I still haven’t gotten you a birthday present. Young man turns eleven today,” he told the Grangers proudly.  “July thirty-first.”

“Oh, wonderful!” said Monica.  “Hermione turns twelve in mid-September, just after school starts.  Well, we’ll have to treat Harry to dinner somewhere around here after shopping’s finished!”  She turned to Wendell, who seemed to nod along, amused and amiable, every time his wife went mad and eagle-eyed on a shopping spree.

“Oh, you don’t have to -” Harry began awkwardly, blushing.

“We know we don’t have to,” said Hagrid gruffly.

“You really must learn to accept help, dear,” said Monica Granger reasonably.  “It is an important and invaluable life skill.”

“I’ll tell you what.  I’ll get your animal,” said Hagrid.  “Not a toad, toads went out of fashion years ago, you’d be laughed at.  And I don’t like cats, they make me sneeze.

“Tell you what.  I’ll get you an owl.  All the kids want owls, they’re dead useful, carry your mail and everything.  And that way you’ll never need a school one!”

“If I’m going to study with Hermione over the summer, that might be a good idea,” said Harry frankly, giving Hermione a worried sideways glance.  “She’s promised to help me study long-distance with all these books and with our magic this summer, and then meet me at Kings Cross for Hogwarts like McGonagall told her to, but… I mean, I know she has enough good sense not to call my house and shout that she’s a friend from Hogwarts and I’m fabulously rich, but I still think my relatives wouldn’t like me using up their phone line a lot.”

“Phone for emergencies.  And lie through my teeth and don’t say anything.  Got it,” said Hermione firmly, nodding once, and her parents smiled.  “We’ll write each other this summer instead using your owl. I’ll be able to teach you how to study better that way anyway.  We’ll try magic out together.”

So they went to Eeylops, which was full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes.  Harry came out with a beautiful female snowy owl, fast asleep in her cage with her head under her wing.  He thanked both Hagrid and the Grangers repeatedly and fervently on their way to Ollivanders for a wand.

Hermione was easy.  She walked into the shop - and they all ducked as something exploded from the back of the shop.  Mr Ollivander ran forward eagerly with the wand and said, “Miss, I think this wand wants you. Vine and dragon heartstring.  Vine is unusually sensitive - it can sometimes be known to call to its owner when its owner enters the shop. Very unique and special, with much depth underneath the surface and great breadth of vision, the owner of a vine wand - and with your core?  Oh, yes, great talent, quick learner. And you are?”

“Hermione Granger,” said Hermione with a huge, excited, breathless smile on her face.

Hermione’s parents paid for her wand, which was put in a long box and wrapped in brown paper, got its dimensions.  Then Mr Ollivander turned sharply to Harry… and recognized him.

He gave the long speech, talked to Hagrid, did all the measuring, and then began handing Harry wands to wave around and try out.  Harry waved several, and nothing happened. The pile of tried wands began mounting on the spindly chair. He was starting to get worried.

But finally, Harry took a wand.  He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers.  He raised it above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air… and a mysterious red mist, beautiful and intricate and mysterious, issued from the end of his wand in a great torrent, slowly and softly dissipating into the air.

Hagrid whooped and clapped, and the three Grangers cheered and applauded.

“Well, well done, Mr Potter!” said Ollivander.  “That would be the dragon heartstring manifesting itself.  Like Miss Granger, you now have the wand of someone who is a quick learner, very talented.  Your wand additionally is the wand of someone with enormous willpower, and great ability for elegant, refined, even quiet and mysterious spellcrafting.  But your matching with larch is interesting.

“So, just to be clear, your wand is: Ten and a half inches, larch and dragon heartstring, hard.

“Strong, durable and warm in colour, larch has long been valued as an attractive and powerful wand wood. Its reputation for instilling courage and confidence in the user has ensured that demand has always outstripped supply. This much sought-after wand is, however, hard to please in the matter of ideal owners, and trickier to handle than many imagine. I find that it always creates wands of hidden talents and unexpected effects, which likewise describes the master who deserves it. It is often the case that the witch or wizard who belongs to the larch wand may never realise the full extent of their considerable talents until paired with it, but that they will then make an exceptional match.

“In other words, you just received the wand of someone who is about to learn just who they are, how much power they have, and what they can do with it.  Paired with dragon heartstring, quick learning, powerful, and temperamental… larch is particularly deadly.

“There are many wands I would have expected you in particular to have, Mr Potter, but you received none of them.  Congratulations. You have bucked fate and all the trends placed upon you.

“Your future looks bright and open for the taking.  A larch and a vine, both dragon heartstrings… what an interesting friendship.”  Ollivander smiled sharply, looking between Harry and Hermione.

Harry paid for his wand, it was wrapped in brown paper in its box, and Ollivander bowed them from his shop.

“How do you feel?” Wendell asked, as the Grangers, Hagrid, and Harry walked back down Diagon Alley.  It was now early evening, with lit gas lamps and fireflies along the long cobbled street.

“... Intimidated,” Harry admitted, smiling wearily.  “So many people seem to be expecting so much from me.”

“Harry, you just do your best every single day,” said Monica.  “Never give up. That’s all we ask from Hermione. And that will be good enough.”

“Exactly.  And you have me to help you,” said Hermione, all-business and matter of fact.  

“Look at how much you’ve changed already!” said Wendell, amused.  “And you have all that studying and learning to do with Hermione this summer, and all that growing with your potions.  I think you’ll manage just fine.”

“Yeah, look, Harry, just be yourself,” said Hagrid.  “Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you’ll be just fine.  I know this must be hard for you. You’ve been singled out, and that’s always hard.  But you’ll have a great time at Hogwarts, both you and Hermione. I did. Still do, as a matter of fact.”

“Now,” said Monica, smiling warmly and putting her arm around Harry’s shoulders, “let’s go have dinner at a nice restaurant, and then we’ll take you to the station with your packages to catch a train home to your relatives.”

“Owl me as soon as you get back,” said Hermione immediately and eagerly, taking charge with her usual forward confidence.

And as Harry walked along amongst his new group of friends, he felt better…  A lot better, in fact. 

“You’re right,” he told Hermione.  “You and I can do this together.”


	2. Training Interlude

**Chapter Two: Training Interlude**

Harry had no time to pay attention to the Dursleys that summer - which was a lucky thing, as they spent most of their time ignoring him out of fear and anger anyway. They said nothing to him about his new appearance and his sudden healthier growth spurt with the cosmetics potions, he said nothing to them about his newfound magic and what had happened between them that night in the hut on the sea rock, and each kept a cold distance from the other.

Harry kept to his room with his new snowy owl for company. He had decided to call her Hedwig, a name he had found in _A History of Magic._

 _I can definitely see you as the type of person to give people elegant, obscure names from distant literary and historical figures you’ve never met,_ Hermione wrote to him. _You have that kind of elegant aura to you._

Hermione had been as good as her word. Harry wrote to her, hesitant, and to his delight he received an almost immediate response back. He and Hermione took up correspondence over the summer, competing to see who could learn a spell or potion the fastest, or who could read the most pages in a single night.

 _I frankly expected this to be horrible, but it’s all so interesting!_ Harry wrote to her, delighted.

Hermione taught him loads of great study and magic learning techniques, now that he took the time to sit down and listen to her - along with loads of training in hard work. Being as brilliant as Hermione took effort and patience, but Harry, fascinated by his brand-new world and desperate to fit in there, was willing to put in the time and effort, to establish the good habits that could carry through into his school career.

And so he quickly devoured books, not only on school subjects - memorizing vocabulary, digesting important pieces of information - but on subjects like Hogwarts, wizarding world culture, wizarding world international relations, and wizarding world history.

More delightfully, he practiced magic, from spellwork to potion-brewing. He and Hermione competed to see how many spells and potions they could learn ahead of time by the time the summer was up. He practiced for countless hours in his bedroom, Hedwig flying in and out of the open window as she pleased with brand-new letters from Hermione.

Harry and Hermione each learned a lot about how the other did magic. 

Hermione was very by the book. On the one hand, she was absolutely brilliant, capable of digesting and reading back whole texts, of memorizing and perfecting anything written inside a tome by an expert on the subject. She was excellent at following the rules of magic to the letter, and getting picture-perfect results. Not only that, but she could use those picture-perfect results cleverly. She was, however, more book-based than practically-based, more thought-based than observational.

But Harry - who had also begun reading his horrors, his mysteries, and his magical nonfiction theory - was good at finding the rules and then creatively breaking them. He learned a healthy respect for the rules from Hermione, but he was more of a take them or leave them kind of wizard. He learned very quickly from his own individual extra studies how to be artful, how to break the rules in a way that produced better results, how to be creative and produce the new and the innovative on instinct. His wand was wonderful here. Of course, this did take lots of informational knowledge first, but it was still an important difference between himself and Hermione. Harry was even more interested in supposedly forbidden knowledge than Hermione was. And Harry was more practically-based than book-based, more observational than thought-based.

There were more differences. They went through mock magical scenarios together, and while Hermione was good at logistics (managing her resources perfectly), Harry was better at strategy (using his resources for battle-ready effect). Hermione thought things through more, but Harry thought better on his feet.

By the end of the summer, they had the entire first year damn near perfect. _I hope this will be enough to get started,_ each wrote at one point worriedly to the other, not really knowing what to expect from actual ordinary students when they got to Hogwarts.

For they had formed a healthy respect for one another. They frustrated each other at times, their ways of learning were so different, but they were also strikingly good together and strikingly good for each other. Hermione informed Harry that Wendell had begun referring to them as the Two-Headed Monster, and Harry smiled at that letter and kept it when he read it.

 _I wish I were with your family,_ he wrote back to her longingly. He did reveal to her a lot about how the Dursleys treated him, and Hermione grew to dislike them a great deal. She promised to keep Harry’s secrets, and shared little bits of normal Granger life with him. The Grangers were fairly wealthy themselves, and a very quiet, kind, warm, intellectual little family.

Harry and Hermione even began plans for how they would meet up on the day of at the station. Harry had read about a wizarding Britain bus route, the Daze and Knight bus routes, and he planned to use some of his remaining coins to leave the Dursley house very early and take the bus to Kings Cross Station in London on the day of. Hermione would be waiting for him there, and as McGonagall had told her about on the day she gave Hermione her letter, together with Hermione's parents they would go through the barrier together.

They also shared their new wizarding music favorites - Harry’s punk rock and Hermione’s soft jazz. Hermione in turn talked about her romances, just as Harry had talked about his books, and Harry grew a healthy understanding and respect for the more feminine or romantic perspective. They shared their awe over the wizarding pictures and photographs they saw that moved to a two-dimensional type of life Charm. And they shared information they’d heard on the WWN radio, from the news of the mysterious and unsolved summer break-in at Gringotts to the vault that had been emptied earlier that very same day, to their favorite wizarding skits and Quidditch sports teams.

They slowly learned the rules of Quidditch, a broom-based sport, from listening in on match commentary. Hermione’s favorite team became the Holyhead Harpies because they were a fierce and hardcore all-woman team; Harry formed a fondness for the cheerful Irish Kenmare Kestrels in their green robes, who always played music before a match. Both teams seemed in general to do fairly well, so neither had much to complain about.

Every evening, Harry ticked off another day on the calendar he had pinned to the wall, counting down to the day he would be arriving at Kings Cross - September the first.


End file.
